


Love is Love

by gogglor



Category: Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Queer Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogglor/pseuds/gogglor
Summary: Why didn't Larry ever try to reconnect with his children? Turns out he tried once.Written pre season 2.
Relationships: Cheryl Trainor & Larry Trainor
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60





	Love is Love

**Author's Note:**

> I was wondering why Larry had never tried to get in touch with his sons, so I wrote a quick story about it. Non-flashback takes place some time after season 1 - something’s happened to more or less bring the gang back together living under one roof. CW: sexism, racism, homophobia, and abuse.
> 
> EDIT: This was written in February of 2020 and the present bits are supposed to take place in the summer of 2020. Funnily enough I did not anticipate a global pandemic, or how Doom Patrol S2 would be dealing with the issue of Larry's kids directly. What a time to be alive. Anyway, take it for what it is: an amber fossil from a simpler time.

Larry woke up to a vague feeling of dread. This was not an uncommon occurrence for the occupants of Doom Manor, particularly the Chief, who’d gotten himself into some curious mental gymnastics where if he  _ didn’t _ wake up with a feeling of dread, he began to dread what this new feeling meant. But this isn’t a story about the Chief. It’s a story about Larry and his dread, both of which were making their way through the manor to the kitchen for a breakfast smoothie. Larry hated breakfast smoothies, but liquids were the only thing he could consume with anyone nearby, and Larry had been trying to make progress on the whole isolating-himself-when-he-felt-terrible thing, so he figured he should try and find some company.   
  
“God I hate making progress,” Larry mumbled as he crashed down in a chair next to Rita in the living room.

“What was that?” said Rita, as she absentmindedly counted the stitches on what looked like a new cardigan. She had “Good Morning USA” on the TV. The bright, cheerful sets and smiling hosts were distinctly at odds with the overcast, gloomy light streaming through the rain-beaten windows and Larry’s crummy mood.

“Nothing. Why aren’t you watching Warner Classic Movies?” asked Larry.

“They’ve got a Judy Perkins marathon on today, and you know I can’t watch a second of that hack try to act,” she said curtly.

“She the one they picked over you for--”

“ _ The Emerald Empress _ , yes, but I don’t see what that has do to with her total lack of… oh dammit, look what you made me do?” said Rita, as she dropped a stitch.

Larry smirked and decided to let it go. The smoothie was making him less grumpy already, and there was something to talking with someone when you felt crummy.

“Can we at least change it to something a little less… bright?” asked Larry.

“Not a chance,” said Rita, “it’s a slow news day, which means they’re doing literally anything to fill the air. So far we’ve met the pets of all of the anchors and now they’re trying to do actual reporting on internet memes, god bless.”

“Wow, who knew a cat wearing a cat-ear headband had such a moving backstory?” said Rachel Cannon, the peppy anchor with big hair, “And speaking of a touching story, we come to our final lookback on the man popularly known... as yeehaw guy.”

The screen cut to slightly unsteady phone camera footage of a rowdy, joyful crowd in front of a large white building. Half the people were wearing suits or Sunday-best clothes and the other half were wearing what looked like the entire clearance rack marked “Pride” from Party City - rainbow leis, boas, face paint, the works. Rachel Cannon’s voiceover said, “On June 26th, 2015, Gina Dogwood was at the courthouse to marry her partner Linda. Only hours before, the Supreme Court had released its decision on Obergefell vs. Hodges, which legalized gay marriage across the United States. And it was while she was there that she recorded the now famous footage.”

A 50-something year old man with piercing blue eyes was carrying his laughing husband, bridal style, down the steps of the courthouse through the middle of the cheering crowd. As he got closer to the cell phone camera, he shouted, “I’m gonna go  _ [bleep] _ my husband now! YeeeeeEEEEEHAAAAWWWW!!!”

For reasons Larry couldn’t explain, his dread was back. Maybe it was because he’d spent that day curled up in a ball of self-loathing and shame, unable to watch all the footage of gleeful gay couples around the United States. But… no. It was something… something else. Something about the man with the blue eyes.

Rachel’s voiceover cut in again, “Overnight, ‘Yeehaw guy’ became an internet sensation, complete with remixes, memes, and a visit to this very show. But where is he now? 5 years later, we sat down with Will Trainor to find out.”

Larry’s mouth went dry. He stared at Billy’s strong jaw and bright blue eyes. Traits he’d inherited from his father

Rita had stopped knitting. “Trainor?” she asked, before turning, “any relation?”

Larry was already running down the hallway to his room.

***

The year was 1975 and Larry Trainor was doing something stupid. He knew it was stupid. He’d been told it was stupid by Rita, the Chief, and his own good sense. But here he was, holding a phone book fragment in front of a giant, gauche mansion on the wealthy side of Louisville, Kentucky, wondering how this could possibly be the right address. Sheryl  _ hated _ ostentatious signs of wealth, or really standing out in any way. She’d told the boys to say Daddy was a pilot, and had chosen the most cookie-cutter McMansion they could find, which had suited Larry’s desire to fit in and disappear perfectly. How the heck had she ended up in a house with honest-to-god Grecian columns out front?

Larry willed himself to stop shaking as he pressed the doorbell. While he waited, he felt the negative spirit stir.

“ _ No, _ don’t you  _ dare, _ ” he said urgently, “I haven’t seen my children in fourteen years, you will  _ not _ mess this up for me.”   
  
To Larry’s relief, the negative spirit stilled just as a portly woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door, utterly unphased by his bandages or sudden appearance. Larry got the impression it’d take a lot to phase her.

“Um… I’m looking for Sheryl Tra-- Sheryl Beauregard. But I think I’ve got the wrong house.”

“Mrs. Beauregard’s name before she married Reverend Beauregard was Trainor, so I believe you have the correct address. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Uhhh…” said Larry, reaching back to his mind for a plan that he’d never formed, “I’m… Larry. An old friend. I was just passing through, and--”

“Of course. Mrs. Beauregard and the Reverend are having tea with Senator Cook, but we expect them back shortly. Do you want to wait in the sitting room?”

Larry did not want to wait in the sitting room. He wanted to go back in time, find himself from yesterday two days ago when he still thought this was a good idea, and give that guy a punch to the gut. But it was too late now - one way or another, he was seeing this through to the end.

Larry was led to a sitting room so immaculate, it felt wrong to imply people ever sat in it. The walls were covered with crosses, plaques of Christian prayers, and cross-stitched platitudes. Larry sat down on a satin sofa that was as hard as a bench and started calculating how long he’d need to wait before he’d suddenly remember a dental appointment, when he spotted a little girl playing with a dollhouse in the adjacent room.

She had Sheryl’s high cheekbones and mousy brown hair and what he presumed was the new husband’s upturned nose, and positively precious dimples in her cheeks. In one hand she had a Barbie and in the other, a Ken.

“Hey Barbie, do you want to commit the sin of adultery?” said “Ken.”

“Nuh-uh, no way. My body is a temple of the lord and a gift to my future husband alone,” said “Barbie.”

“C’mon, listen to my preer pressure,” said “Ken.”

“Never!” said “Barbie.”

The little girl had Barbie turn her back and walk off. Ken… Larry wasn’t sure, but it appeared that Ken then walked up to the roof of the dream house, committed suicide by jumping off, and landed in what appeared to be a hell-bucket, as the little girl then started shaking it and voicing screams from within. There were a lot of other Barbies and Kens in the hell bucket. One of the Kens was wearing a dress.

Larry was so engrossed in the events in the other room that he nearly had a heart attack when the front door opened and Sheryl walked in, perfectly coiffed in a fur-trimmed coat and three strings of pearls. The moment she saw Larry she went white as a sheet.

“Um, hi Sheryl. It’s Larry.” Larry said as he stood up.

Sheryl rushed over to the sitting room, looking furious and scared as she took his arm and started to steer him toward the back of the house. “I know who you are Larry and I need you to listen. You need to leave. Now.”

“Wait, Sheryl,” said Larry shaking free, “I’m sorry to drop in on you like this, and I understand if you never want to see me again. But you weren’t returning my messages, and I was hoping maybe we could set up some time to see the boys?”

“Larry, listen to me,” said Sheryl, vibrating urgency from every fibre of her being, “We can talk later but you need to leave before--”

“Before what? Before your husband had a chance to meet another kindred spirit?” said a Kentucky drawl to their left.

Larry turned and beheld who must have been Reverend Beauregard. He was tall and powerfully built, and had a commanding presence that was somehow not undercut by his powder blue suit.

“Hello, Reverend,” started Larry, but Sheryl beat him to it.

“This is Laurence,” she said, and it took Larry a second to remember that was actually his name, it had been so long. “He’s Margaret’s nephew from Bible study, and he was just returning the sapphire earring I’d forgotten. Margaret would come by herself but you know how Frank gets about Margaret leaving the house without him.”

“He looks like a damned mummy,” said Reverend Beauregard, sizing him up.   
  
“He’s just back from ‘Nam, but he’s on his way now, aren’t you Laurence?” said Sheryl. To anyone else she’d’ve sounded collected and matter-of-fact but Larry knew her well enough to hear the fear in her voice.

“Nonsense! Veterans are always welcome in the Beauregard household,” said the Reverend, slapping Larry’s shoulder. “You couldn’t be thinking about running out before dinner, could you son?”

Larry had the perfect out. He could’ve said, “I’m sorry, I can’t eat with my bandages on. Take care, Sheryl,” and been on his way. But in that moment, two teenage boys appeared behind the reverend. Both had strong jaws and piercing blue eyes. And they had that same note of fear in their demeanor that Sheryl did, and he’d be damned if he left before finding out why.   
  
“I’d be delighted, Reverend” said Larry. Thirty minutes later, Larry realized the only thing he’d be able to eat was those words as he sat down at the dinner table in front of an immense feast. But like the house, the food was all wrong. Cheryl’s father was Hungarian and her mother was Italian, and one way he’d counted himself lucky was that when every other house was serving aspic and marshmallow salad, he’d always come home to home made pasta or paprikash. But this was all straight out of the newest 70’s cookbooks; there wasn’t a single thing on the table that didn’t come from a can.

Larry was about to serve himself some… well, it looked like [tuna salad that had been shaped into a fish](https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2016/12/01/seafoodmousse-57_custom-d60d445b292d914de224baf2f86c7a750d41f748-s1300-c85.jpg) so he could push it around on his plate and pretend he’d eaten some when he felt a hard kick under the dinner table from Sheryl. Larry looked up and she subtly gestured toward the Reverend on her left at the head of the table, who was tucking a gold cloth napkin into his shirt front.

“Now, let us all join hands and pray,” said the Reverend. Larry gulped, but took the Reverend’s hand on his right and, as nonchalantly as he could, he took his son Billy’s hand in his left. Billy Trainor, who never stopped talking unless there was food in his mouth. Next to him was Paul. Larry remembered coming home to Paul sobbing over a caterpillar he’d stepped on by mistake on the front pave stones. He’d had to put a little mound of dirt over it and have an honest-to-god caterpillar funeral for him to calm down. Larry barely recognized these reserved, quiet teenage boys, eyes downcast in prayer.  _ I guess they just grew up _ , he thought as a fresh wave of misery overtook him.

Then the Reverend began to speak.

“Merciful Lord, we thank you for this magnificent meal, and for your servant Larry’s company. We ask you to give speedy healing to his wounds, and blessings to the great country he served.”

Larry rolled his eyes behind his goggles, but so far so good. Looks like Sheryl’s line on his Vietnam service had been more convincing than Larry felt it was. Or at least the Reverend didn’t know is wife nearly as well as Larry did.

“We also also ask, as always, for you to condemn the blasphemers and communists defiling your name with their protests and satanic music. Condemn the dangerous feminists leading your daughters astray into lust and lesbianism. And condemn the homosexuals and misceginests defiling your beautiful world with their sexual perversity. We ask in the name of your son and our savior, Jesus Christ. Amen”

“Amen,” said everyone at the table except Larry. There was another kick, and Larry said, “Amen,” too, followed by a swift prayer in his mind to whatever was listening not to count what he said.

“So, Larry,” said the Reverend as he dug into some kind of hard boiled egg and tomato jello monstrosity, “which branch of the armed forces did you serve in?”

Larry got the distinct impression the Reverend was trying to catch him in a lie, so he played it as truthfully as he could. “Air Force. 32nd squadron. And to answer your next question, this came from a crash, and I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to share more than that,” said Larry.

“Ohhh, special forces huh? You know there’s probably nothing you could tell me that I haven’t already heard from my dear friends Senator Cook and General Delacroix, but we needn’t discuss such matters with ladies and children present,” said the Reverend.

“My father was in that Air Force squadron,” said Paul, perking up and looking like the boy Larry remembered for the first time this evening, “Do you--”

The Reverend slammed his hand on the table and shouted, “Children should be seen and not heard!”

“Yes, daddy,” mumbled Paul as he collapsed in on himself.

“And now you’re talking back to me in front of a guest? Go to your room and I will deal with you later.”

“No, Reverend, please,” said Larry quickly, “I’m very used to people asking questions, given my appearance, and I don’t want you to punish him on my account. Please.”

The Reverend looked like he’d been slapped, but rules of decorum prevented him from striking back. A full two seconds later he composed himself and said, “Of course. Paul, say thank you to your lord for his mercy.”

“Thank you, daddy. Thank you, Jesus,” mumbled Paul before he sat back down and went back to separating out the parts of the food that were edible to him. Paul was lactose-intolerant, but apparently that hadn’t stopped the cook from sprinkling cheese over almost everything.

“I’m grateful of your understanding of the children,” said the Reverend, “The boys aren’t mine, and yet God gave them to me in his wisdom, to set them on the right path. It’s taken me some time to wring the sinful willfulness out of them but I believe they’ll be God’s children yet.”

Larry was about to say something he’d regret when Sheryl cut in, “Harold’s been a good father to the boys, and I’m grateful he’s in their lives to fill the hole their natural father created when he left.”

And just like that, the anger that had been slowly simmering up in him turned to despair and self-loathing. Who was he to judge how his children were being raised? Larry hadn’t exactly been father of the year with his own time with his children - he’d spent many a long hour distinguishing himself in the Air Force to get on the Mercury short-list, and his spare time always went to John. These were Sheryl’s children more than they were ever his. And the Reverend here at home, having dinner with them. He was here for them. Larry never had been.

“So, Reverend. Tell me about your congregation,” said Larry trying to fill the air somehow.

If there had been any residual awkwardness, it quickly evaporated as the Reverend started on his favorite subject. “Oh, my congregation’s mostly on the television these days,” he said, positively beaming, “That’s where the souls are to be gathered in this day and age.”

“You’re… a television preacher?” said Larry, more to Sheryl than to anyone else.

“Why yes! You can catch me on channel four Monday through Friday from 5 to 7, primetime slot,” he bragged. “But more often than that, you can catch me on the news. Right now I’m on a mission to protest every movie theater in Kentucky that’s airing that devil’s film,  _ The Rocky Horror Picture Show _ . Now I’ve never seen it, but I’ve been informed by reliable sources there is honest-to-God homosexual sex depicted in this film. Can you imagine? Homosexuals in an American movie, what is this world coming to, Laurence?”

Larry could practically hear Rita saying in his mind,  _ You’re a bit late if you’re worried about that _ , but he said, “It sounds like you’re very passionate, Reverend.”

“Absolutely,” said the Reverend, wiping his mouth, “Take these boys here. You’ll never know it to look at them but they had…” the Reverend leaned in as if to whisper, but said the next words loud enough for the whole table to hear, “a homosexual father… can you imagine? Sheryl told me so.”

“Did she.” said Larry pointedly. Sheryl was immensely preoccupied with her wristwatch.

“She did. I shudder to think what happened in the twilight hours after he came home. No doubt the abuse was--”

Larry stood up suddenly, angrier than he’d ever been in his life.

Somehow Larry choked out, “Excuse me,” before making his way to the door, positively seeing red at what that pathetic excuse of a man had dared to  _ imply _ .

He was halfway across the gigantic foyer when Sheryl caught up to him.

“La--” she started, grabbing his shoulder.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” spat Larry, although he stopped in spite of himself. “Don’t, Sheryl.”

“Listen--” she pleaded.

“No, you listen. Do you want to know why I never came back before now? Because I trusted you. I trusted that whatever you did with the boys, it’d be a damn sight better than anything I could come up with. But of all the backward, horrible, racist, bigoted--”

“How DARE you!” she shouted, “I had NOTHING after the accident, the military wouldn’t release the pension! I did what I had to for our children to survive so don’t you DARE judge me, Larry Trainor!”

“Dad?” said a voice on their left. The kids had followed them into the foyer and they hadn’t noticed, and Billy had a look on his face like he was afraid to hope too much. But before Larry could say anything, he was against the wall, the Reverend’s forearm against his throat.

“Larry fucking Trainor,” the Reverend breathed, “Oh the devil works in strange ways but I never imagined he break bread at my table. You have some nerve, you goddamned fairy shit.”

“Get… off…” Larry struggled to say, but the Reverend’s forearm was over his windpipe and suddenly, he couldn’t breathe at all.

“We are exorcising your demon here and now, you evil creature,” said the Reverend, who promptly began to shout some words about Satan and casting things out, but between Sheryl screaming, the little girl crying, and Larry’s rapidly approaching unconsciousness, Larry didn’t pick up much of it. His last thought before he blacked out was,  _ Rita will never believe this. _

When Larry came to, the room was much quieter. Larry sat up and suppressed a “FUCK” as he took in his surroundings.

The negative spirit had been released. All the glass in the chandelier had shattered and was now littered on the floor. In one corner, Sheryl was shielding her children with her body. And in the other, the reverend was sprawled awkwardly.

“My g-- is he--” Larry got out in his panic.

“Get out and take your lightning devil with you, Larry Trainor!” Sheryl shrieked.

Larry looked at his wife and the people in the corner. If Sheryl had been scared at the start of the evening, she was petrified now. So were the boys. The little girl was sobbing quietly. If the Reverend was a monster, he was nothing compared to Larry.

Larry ran and didn’t look back.

***

The year was 2020 and Larry wasn’t sure if he was doing something stupid. This time he was outside a house in the more suburban part of Brooklyn, and he was expected. Inside he heard the chatter of a family party.

Larry’s son Will was in there. So was his son-in-law, Ahmed, and their two sons. So was Larry’s daughter, Justine (Larry had never much cared for “Paul” as a name anyway), her husband Chinh, and their four children (2 girls, a boy, and a neither). Of his grandchildren, 5 were married and 4 had little ones of their own. Even Sheryl’s daughter, was there, along with her husbands (yes, plural) and their own litter of children and grandchildren. All that was missing was Sheryl, who’d sadly passed away 30 years ago. All of them were anxious to meet in person the avenging angel who’d struck out against the evil Reverend Beauregard. The man whose actions spurred Sheryl to divorce their evil stepfather and take him for all he was worth in court. The newspapers had been horrible. Especially when it was revealed that Sheryl was harboring the Reverend’s own daughter along with her children. Until she went to the newspapers and showed them the scars from the strap he’d used to “beat the devil out of them.” She was still vilified in the Evangelical circuit, but with the money from the divorce she could move up North, far away from them, and one day open a hospice center for HIV-infected men who had nowhere else to go.

Larry had always had the impression that Sheryl contained more multitudes than he could fathom or appreciate, and he’d been right. She wasn’t right to be his wife, but in another life they’d’ve been very good friends. It could’ve been this life too. She’d tried to find him once she came to Brooklyn, but the Chief had intercepted her letters. Larry wanted to be angry, but deep down he knew that he probably would have burned them without reading them, if he’d known.

No, any version of Larry before the version of him right here and now wouldn’t have been ready for this. For his newfound, gigantic, surprisingly queer family, and the life they’d built with each other. The life they were welcoming him to be a part of.

The negative spirit thrummed inside his chest as the door opened, and Larry walked into a new chapter of his life.


End file.
